


i'm (not) your son

by rad_sad



Series: i'm dedicating every day to you [5]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, One Shot, Past Relationship(s), also he's not a complete asshole, hamilton is younger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9282014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rad_sad/pseuds/rad_sad
Summary: all the times Alexander is thankful to have George in his life





	

**Author's Note:**

> short and sweet for alex's bday

**v**

_i._

He calls him father in his mind.

A slip, an accident. He hadn't meant it, hadn't meant to let the word sneak into his thought. Washington was talking to him, twirling the glass in his palm as his voice stayed low and tired. Alexander was tired, too; sleep was a mere fancy. So many letters, writing, writing, writing away. He could have built worlds on paper had he been given the chance. 

He was sixteen going on twenty-two (it had been easy to lie, easy to wriggle himself into the camp full of men who were taller and older and stronger.) Washington was tall, broad shouldered and frowned. A lot. There was not a single sliver of resemblance between George Washington and James Hamilton. Sr. Yet...

Alexander hadn't meant to let himself slip up, to find himself growing more comfortable around the General. 

_He's just nice to me because I'm the only one in this infernal camp who can write properly._

But maybe, maybe, it wasn't so wrong to pretend that the General was nice to him simply because he thought Alexander was a good person.

When was the last time someone had been nice to him without seeking an ulterior motive? He still remembered cousin Peter who shot himself, leaving nothing to Alexander and his brother, who were (not really) orphans. 

And so, when it's late at night, the General, after coaxing him long enough, convinces Alexander to retire. "Thank you, sir."

"Get some sleep, son."

_I will, Father._

A foreign and frightening word that Alexander freezes as Washington turns away, his back to the younger man.

For the first, and last time in his life, Alexander bit his tongue and turned away.

* * *

  _ii._

No one has ever told Alexander that they were proud of him.

When Washington lets the words slip along with that damned word - _son_  - that seemed to cling onto every sentence, Alexander fights the lump in his throat as he turns away from the General, blinking away the mistiness in his eyes.

"Thank you..."  _Father._ "Sir."

He can barely get the words out.

* * *

  _iii._

Eliza is cute. And older.

Angelica is pretty. And older.

John is beautiful. And older.

Alexander writes beautiful, albeit short, letters to Eliza.

Angelica he doesn't write to, nor does she send a letter.

John holds all of his words and thoughts.

He never responds.

Washington notices his crestfallen appearance. He believes George thinks its because of the Schuyler girl ( _he doesn't._ ) When Alexander finds it too hard to focus with all his emotions pent up, the air in his body unable to be let out because he doesn't remember to breathe and then Washington places a hand on Alexander's shoulder, who was only seventeen but feeling far much older.

"Don't give up hope yet, son. With only hope lost, is the battle lost."

Alexander tries not to cry. 

"Thank you."  _Father._

* * *

 

_iv._

The letter comes in the middle of the night and John Laurens is dead.

This time Alexander doesn't hesitate to cry. Washington is there, holding up his broken and wailing aide-de-camp. Alexander felt like a useless child as Washington smoothed down the boy's restless curls atop his head, his soft comforts being hushed.

He can feel himself being gently rocked back and forth by the General, as Alexander holds tight to George, trying to smother his sobs. It helps.

Eliza sent a letter of condolences.

Her Father has given them their blessing.

George is holding tightly to Alexander just as Alexander is holding tightly to him, feeling as if that should he let go then all the broken pieces within him would shatter.

There are no words. Alexander can't help but thank the General in his mind for being there for him.

_Thank you._

_Father._

* * *

  _v._

Philip has his smile. He laughs and, since learning to stand on his feet without falling, seems to have taken a fancy to dancing.

Alexander has missed four birthdays already. Eliza is never angry with him. Angelica writes sometimes but the fancy is gone.

So frequent are the Hamilton's at Mount Vernon, mostly due to the fact Mrs. Washington  _insists_ to her dear friend Eliza that they _must_ spend the summer together, that Philip has learned where to hide in every nook and cranny.

Parenthood is scary.

"It gets easier, son," George laughs, watching Alexander with that crinkly smile as Alexander watched with worry Philip show off his handstands to his rather amused mother and Martha Washington. "You always keep worrying about them, even when they have their own family and grow up. But, it lessens with time."

Alexander dropped his eyes, wondering if that was true. Probably not. His biological father never really seemed to care for him. His grip around the glass tightens.

"Did it for you?" Alexander asks.

George is looking at him straight in the eye and the crinkly smile on his face is replaced with a sad one.

"No, not for me."

"Thank you... for the advice." He wants to say the word but he fears he is too old now.

* * *

_vi._

Eliza and Angelica push Alexander to take a break and he doesn't want to. 

George forces him, telling him that there was no time like the present and that his plan would still be there by the time he returned. 

Alexander goes upstate for the summer with his family.

The time passes uneventfully.

When he returns he feels better, refreshed. George teasingly asks how his visit went.

"It was... much needed," Alexander replied. "Thank you."

The word is at the tip of his tongue but George is gone in a whirlwind. 

"Father."

He says it to no one.

* * *

 

_vii._

He gets the letter late in the night. 

George Washington is ill.

The world is crumbling beneath him and he tells Eliza that he must leave for Mount Vernon this instant. Eliza understands, she always does (what did he ever do to deserve her?).

He's sick with worry and tries not to cry during the journey. It's long. And bitter.

Alexander thinks that he is far too late by the time he arrives but Mrs. Washington is there, all a flurry of skirts and her bonnet.  _Quickly, quickly, Alexander, you must come quickly._

George is on his deathbed and Alexander takes his hand, unable to push away the tears that cling to the corner of his eyes.

"Alexander?"

"Yes, it's me."

A breathy chuckle leaves the old General, who turns his gaze towards his previous aide-de-camp. His eyes are misty too. Alexander feels a tear slip down his cheek and he can't hide the croak in his voice.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, sir," Alexander confesses, bottom lip quivering as if he was seventeen all over again.

"It's alright, son."

Alexander feels a sob breaking through.

"Thank you." A moment. "Father."

A pause.

George speaks.

" _Thank you, son_."

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> so here we are, the end of a brief era. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this series as much as I've enjoyed writing it


End file.
